The Demon Alcohol
by comlodge
Summary: Buffy and the gang find Spike in a bad way.


Spike woke to a red hot agony, burning in his abdomen, as though his insides were molten fire. Panicked, he rose to his feet in a blur of motion that ended in a scream of agony he could not contain. His left ankle felt shattered, something wet and greasy dragged down his body and his right hand was another agony to contend with. He doubled over, reaching toward the floor, saw the mangled fingers that bent in directions they were never supposed to and behind them his mangled guts hanging from a long open wound below his belly button.

He slumped to the floor, trying to grab his intestines and push them back into the cavity they'd escaped from with hands that were clumsy and unco-operative. He panted in an effort to contain the pain and control the fear and panic that were threatening to cloud his thoughts and send him back into oblivion. Gingerly he pressed the last of the pale red, glistening mess, back inside his body. As the fog receded from his eyes, he looked again at his right hand. The four fingers were broken, the bones of three piercing the skin. Gritting his teeth he carefully grasped each one and realigned the bones within each, until they looked reasonably straight. That was a lesson he'd learnt early in his fledgling days of unlife. Broken bones healed the way they were set and if you wanted to have straight limbs, you had to reset them before the healing began. Otherwise the bones had to re-broken and set properly. Angelus had let him learn that one the hard way.

Still breathing heavily, he looked down the length of his leg. His ankle and foot seemed to be in a reasonable alignment, the break no doubt held in place by his boots. He hoped it was good enough because there was no way he was going to be able to bend and reach that far right now. The pain of the open slash across his lower body, on top of the broken bones, was almost more than he could bear. He looked at the gaping mess and wondered how he could close it.

With a groan he lowered his upper body to the floor again and tried to gather what strength he had left. He needed to work out how exactly he was going to get himself up off the floor and on the bed and how the fuck he could stitch himself up. His eyes closed and he started to drift off, the ragged wound imprinted on his mind. He remembered a dull, rainy day, a busy street of cobbled stones, filled with carriages drawn by pairs, prancing in their fine harnesses, the odd single pulling a small governess trap and the coaches pulled by teams of four.

The sidewalks bustled with women in long gowns, bustles swaying as they moved; parasols open to fend off the drizzle. Beside them strode gentlemen, in suits of fine flannel and tweed. There were nannies out with their charges, small children clinging to skirts, pushing baby carriages, which bounced over the uneven footing.

He was strolling along with a group of fellows. They were down from college to attend a lecture on the travels of Captain Mathew Flinders who had followed in the footsteps of the great sea captain, James Cook, discoverer of the New South Wales colonies. They were chatting amongst themselves, high on the thrill of exploration and not a little on the tales of the sailors escapades with the native women on some of the islands they'd visited.

William had been much taken with the account of Flinders' exploration of the coast of what he had called, Terra Australis and in particular with the natural feature Flinders had named, The Great Barrier Reef. The descriptions of the islands, the fauna and the flora that had abounded in the area, appealed to the poet in William. He was imagining basking in the sun on one of these tropical paradises when there was a terrible screeching of wheels and screaming of horse and men.

Looking up, to his horror, he saw a man who had somehow fallen under the wheels of one of the carriages. His belly was sliced open and his insides were now laying spread across him and onto the ground. The man screamed in his agony whilst the crowd about him stared in horror. William saw the moment the man died; the light in his eyes appearing to simply fade away, as the poor wretch stilled his frantic thrashing and became limp and unmoving on the dirty street. Blood bubbled from his mouth, matching the red flow that ran from his open belly. It was a sight that would haunt William's dreams for some time.

Spike groaned as the long ago memory played across his mind. The man had died in agony and so very quickly.

"Buffy! He's over here. Holy gaping holes. It looks like he's been clawed open." Xander bent over the fallen vampire and shook his shoulder. "Hey. Dead boy, anyone in there."  
"Oh my god. So much blood." Buffy knelt down beside the wounded vampire. "What on earth did this? And how? It's not like Spike to let anyone get the drop on him in his own crypt. Why didn't he get out in the tunnels?"  
"All good questions, I'm sure Buffster, but hadn't we try and get him fixed up right now?"  
"You're right, Xan. You take his legs and I'll get his shoulders. We'll have to keep him flat so nothing falls out. We'll put him on the bed."

They picked the vampire up and carried him gingerly across to the bed, laying him out.

"I'll go get Giles and the first aid kit. Probably should stitch that up before he loses his guts." Xander grimaced as he looked at the mess that was Spike's stomach.  
"Okay. I'll stay here in case whatever it was comes back."

Xander left by the ladder and Buffy sat on the bed. She idly wondered who Spike had annoyed enough to do this to him. Probably cheating at cards again. If that was the reason she was so gonna stake him for it. She had enough to do without having to get involved in gambling debts again. Just then the vampire in question groaned and opened his eyes.

"Slayer?"  
"Yes, Spike. It's me. Mind telling me what happened to you?"  
"Um, well. It's all a bit hazy. I'm in a bit of pain here you know. Life threatening injury and all."  
"If I find out this was a gambling thing, you _can_ consider it life threatening, Spike, because I'm going to stake you."  
"Now, Slayer. Was just trying to get a bit of cash for blood and smokes. Not like I can get a regular job is it?"  
"Surely there are better ways than cheating demons."  
"Weren't demons. College boys. Followed me back here."  
"What! College students did this? How come you didn't just take off down the tunnels when you heard them come in?"  
"Didn't hear them. Might have been a bit drunk. First thing I knew, they'd pulled me outta my chair and two of them were shaking me and yelling about getting their money back. Accused me of dealing from the bottom of the deck."  
"And did you? Deal from the bottom of the deck?"  
"It's a tough world for a chipped vampire, Slayer. Anyway, I headbutted one of them, got me brain zapped for me trouble, stumbled backwards through the trapdoor and fell on me bloody axe."  
"You did this to yourself?" Buffy's stared at him an incredulous look on her face.  
Spike looked sheepishly at the ceiling. "Yeah. They shone a torch down here, then one of them chucked. I guess I looked a bit the worse for wear and all. Heard them scarper after that."  
"So, you're telling me that you were so drunk that you fell down the ladder, landed on your own axe and cut open your stomach...?"  
"And broke me hand and knocked me self out. Yeah, 'bout sums it up. Had a bad dream too. Very traumatic. Guess drinking is bad for your health after all."

…


End file.
